The Beggarman's Second Chance
by ButI'mBatgirl
Summary: George Smiley never really noticed Lucille Pentecost; until she joined his team and helped him find more than Karla's mole. Rated for language. Have fixed formatting issue.


Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. All recognisable characters belong to John LeCarre. This is more based on the 2011 film directed by Tomas Alfredson, the screenplay written by Bridget O'Connor and Peter Straughan. There are some key conversations that I very much liked, each section will be credited accordingly. I only own Lucille. I hope you enjoy, please review. Feedback helps.

CHAPTER ONE

 **Recruiting Lucille**

Lucille Pentecost was a woman who lived life by her own rules. She'd been the only child of her parents; Thomas, a banker, and Edith, a nurse. She'd resented the restrictions and precautions that her older parents had set for her; rebelling against their plans for her. Lucille knew that her parents had hoped she would marry well, and that they would have been disappointed in her for failing to do so, choosing instead to focus on her career. There had been men, boyfriends, but now, at the age of 37, she was happy to remain single, since the man she wanted was absolutely unavailable to her. She pulled the elastic out of her long curly hair and retied it as she rode the elevator down to Archives. She thought, with a small frown, of the day that Control and Smiley had left. She had worked closely with both men, as a translator and data analyst, but after they'd been forced out of Circus, it had been a mess, her job had been reassigned to one of the men from Bill Haydon's team and she'd found herself shunted into being Roy Bland's secretary. She scoffed. It was insulting. It was 1973. Women were capable of many great jobs, including the job she'd been doing successfully for over ten years with the two older men. She spoke multiple languages and had graduated university with a double degree in Political Science and History and she had been allocated to being a secretary, to one of the biggest flirts in the agency. She sighed. That had been her job, until, of course, she'd twisted Bland's wrist when he'd gotten too familiar with her in the lift the week previous. A strand of her chestnut coloured hair slipped from the tie and hung in front of her face as she bent over her desk and the stack of files that was piled haphazardly on the edge. She slid a slim pair of reading glasses over her small nose and sighed, tucking the hair behind her ear, she tucked into work. She enjoyed her new role. Not as much as her first role, but she certainly preferred being a glorified librarian to being Bland's chief coffee fetcher. Down in archives, she was mostly left alone. The occasional Operative came down, but she saw more of the Handlers coming down than anyone else. Actually, that was a lie; she saw more of the cleaners. She frowned as she read through the files, trying to sort them into the right order for easy filing. Archives was huge, but thankfully, there was a rather simple way of organising the mass of paperwork that came with a secret service agency. She remembered fetching files every now and then for Smiley, the long hours they'd spent in his office translating reports over tea and sandwiches. She missed the discussions, the interactions, and she missed the tea. Smiley made the best tea. He had refused the cheap teabags that were found in the tin in the lunch room, and instead brought his from home; sharing them with her. She stared at her cup of tea- now the cheap teabags from the lunch room. She sighed. She really missed Smiley's tea.

Peter rapped his knuckles neatly on the door and Mendel let him in.  
"You won't believe what they've been doing," he snarled as he sat back in the couch, accepting the offered glass of whiskey.  
George looked up from the file of papers in his hands. "By 'they' I assume you're talking about Alleline and Bland?"  
"Come off it George, you know that if it's one or two of them, it's definitely all four. Esterhase and Haydon aren't exempt. They're all as bad as each other. Though, if you ask me, I think this has Bland, in particular, written all over it. He always has been a jealous old prick." He swallowed the whiskey and slammed the glass down on the table. "First, they forced you and Control out. Then it was Connie Sachs and Jerry Westerby."  
"Yes, we already know that," Mendel snapped.  
"Lucille Pentecost spends all day in the basement. The Archives. They've put her down there. She's an asset to The Circus. I've lost track of how many languages she speaks, and they've turned her into a librarian."  
Smiley frowned. "Four. Five if you count English. French, German, Russian and Swedish. Why would they ignore her talents?"  
"Because she's loyal. To Control. To you. Surely you saw the way she used to look at you two. Control was her hero. You…" Mendel trailed off.  
Guillam laughed. "George, Lucille Pentecost fancies you. Surely you knew that."  
He froze, his jaw twitching as his neck went a little pink. "No. I didn't."  
"George, it's Lucille. You and Control were the only ones who could ever call her Lucy and not end up with a stapler thrown at your face. Control was her hero. You were, are, something different."  
The blush reached his ears. "I'm married."  
"It stops her from acting on her feelings, but it doesn't stop the feelings," Mendel pointed out.  
"Anyway, we have an asset, a loyal asset in the Archives. We should use her," Peter suggested. "It would make it easier. They don't even watch her. They've put her in the dungeon. To them, problem solved. Out of sight, out of mind."  
Smiley shook his head slightly, processing all of the new information, still thrown by the revelation of Lucille's feelings. "I won't have her being put in danger. If Bland or any of the others start sniffing around her, we leave her alone."  
Guillam smirked. "Bland got shot down. Rumour is, he got overly friendly and a little frisky. He tried to grope her in the lift. She turned him down and had him pressed against the wall. He won't be using his left hand to touch any girls any time soon."  
George's face filled with thunder. "He what?"  
"She took care of it. I'll have a word with her tomorrow. I'll get her to come by in the evening."  
George nodded. "If anyone is watching the two of you, they'll just think it's a clandestine love affair."  
Mendel snorted loudly and refilled his drink. "That'll lend some credence to the story of Bland in the lift. Or it'll explain why she objected to his approach."  
"They won't be watching her," Guillam stated confidently. "Bland is humiliated. He tried it, he got rejected and sent her to The Archives so he doesn't have to see her every day. The man is an absolute cad."  
"Agreed," Mendel muttered. "He and Bill Haydon are two peas in a pod. Both of them, did you see them at the Christmas party? Bland was flirting with anything in a skirt, in front of his wife. And Haydon was flirting with everyone else's wives."  
Smiley's face fell and he went pale, the blush at the idea of Lucy Pentecost fancying him finally disappearing when the memory of seeing Bill Haydon with Ann appeared in the forefront of his mind. "If the two of you are just going to gossip like a pair of wives, then I'm going to turn in for the night. Peter, when you see Miss Pentecost tomorrow, give her my regards."

He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, sliding his feet out of his shoes. He stared at his socked feet, questioning what anyone could possibly see in him. He was fifty-five, he was married; to a woman who couldn't remain faithful, but he certainly could. He was old, tired, secretive, and suspicious and cautious of everything. There was nothing he could possibly offer her. He knew she was young, if he remembered correctly, she was still a year or two off forty. She couldn't possible want him. He quickly changed and slid into the bed, folding his glasses and leaving them on the bedside table. 

"Miss Pentecost!"  
She spun, her hair, clipped back from her face, flew behind her as her skirt flared. "Mr Guillam? How can I help you?" She smiled brightly.  
He stepped closer. "It's more," he said quietly, "how you can help Smiley."  
Her eyes widened and she smiled. "Mr Smiley?"  
"Yes. Meet me in the lobby of the Hotel Islay. Do you know where that is?"  
"That boarding house just around from Liverpool Street Station?"  
He nodded. "Seven."  
She blinked and nodded her understanding.  
"I'll take you to Smiley from there."  
She nodded again as he turned to leave. "Mr Guillam?"  
The blond man paused and looked back at her. "Yes, Miss Pentecost?"  
She nibbled on her lip. "Is, is everything okay? Is he hurt? Sick? I heard about Control. They said it was natural causes, but if Mr Smiley is sick, it could be something different," she rambled. She blushed and stopped. She knew that if Smiley was sick, Guillam would be taking her to a hospital to see him; or his home. And The Hotel Islay was, she knew, nowhere near his Islington home.  
Guillam smiled kindly. "Smiley is fine. Tired, but the picture of perfect health. I'll inform him that you were concerned."  
Her blush deepened as he walked towards the exit.

Lucille followed Peter through the building to a door where he knocked a sequence.  
Mendel opened the door with a teasing grin on his face. "You're just showing off for Miss Pentecost aren't you? Come in my Dear." He gestured to the small flat behind him.  
She was led to a couch and the two men chose the armchairs on the other side of the small coffee table. The apartment seemed to consist of one main room that was a living room, a dining room and a small kitchenette all rolled into one. There was a closed door that she assumed was a bathroom and finally an open door with a small bedroom beyond.  
"George? Drag yourself away from those files and greet our guest."  
The older man came in from the bedroom and sat awkwardly on the couch next to Lucille, a paper in one hand, a pen in the other. "Miss Pentecost," he greeted her warmly, refusing to even glance at the other two.  
She smiled brightly. "Mr Smiley, Sir, it is good to see you again. But please, it hasn't been that long, call me Lucille."  
He nodded, dropping the paper and pen on the table. "Lucille, and please, it's George."  
She smiled shyly. "George, Peter said that there was something I could do to help you?"  
Mendel rolled his eyes. "Of course that's all he said. Peter, you're hopeless."  
Guillam looked insulted. "Sod off," he snapped.  
George cleared his throat. "When Jim Prideaux was killed, he was investigating a claim that Karla had planted a spy, a mole within Circus. Control had sent him to Budapest to discover the identity and was killed before he could report back."  
She gasped. "A mole? Surely that's ridiculous?"  
"That is exactly what we thought when we were told. But no, we have a source and he has so far, shown to be reliable."  
"Ricki Tarr," she murmured. "There have been grumblings going around at work. Ricki Tarr seems to be at the centre of it all, and if I remember correctly, Peter, aren't you his contact?"  
Mendel chuckled. "George, you said she was good."  
The corners of his mouth lifted into a small smile. "We are hoping, Lucille, that you might be willing to hunt out some files in Archives and get them to Peter."  
She froze. "So there's a mole, spying on Circus, giving Karla everyone's identities and information. And you want me to sneak files to Mr Guillam?"  
George nodded. "Of course you can say no, we could find an alternative plan. We just expect that Peter going down to Archives all the time could become suspicious. We won't, I won't let you be put in any danger. I will protect you. You will be safe."  
She blushed. "Do you have any suspicions over who the mole might be?"  
"If you know, you might not be able to react normally around them."  
She thought for a moment. "So it's Bland, Haydon, Alleline and Esterhase?"  
Peter snorted. "Very good Miss Pentecost. Very good indeed."  
"So you want to use my placement in Archives to get paperwork?"  
At George's nod she sat up straighter.  
"And if I'm caught?" she asked quietly, almost afraid of their answer.  
Peter and Mendel refused to meet her eyes, leaving it to George to respond.  
"If you're caught, you can't mention me."  
She exhaled slowly.  
"If you're caught, it could be bad. I will make it known with my superior that you are involved now, this will mean that ultimately, it will be fine. But…"  
"But if Bland caught me, he might try his own brand of justice."  
George paled at the implications but nodded his head tightly. "Unfortunately, yes. However, we won't leave you behind."  
Her smile was more of a grimace. "I understand. I'll be on my own until you can do something. But I do understand that finding the mole is our priority."  
Mendel grinned. "It sounds like she's in." He clapped a hand on Guillam's back. "You are, in, that is, aren't you?"  
She smiled shyly. "I'm in."  
After a moment of studying her face, looking for God only knew what, he nodded stiffly. "Welcome aboard. So to speak."

Please Review  
Chapter Two: Recognising Reality


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